Page 57 of Naughty Dreams
DJ set aside his guitar as the bus rumbled to a stop. He jerked his head toward the door. “Let’s talk outside.”
As Tal started to rise, DJ raised a hand. “Nope. I’m talking to Roy. Alone.”
Tal was already clenched up and spoiling for a fight, but DJ ignored his look of surprise and moved toward the door,
not waiting for Roy to precede him. He could give him shit for that outside, too.
Except Zed didn’t open the door. DJ almost face-planted into it. He shot the driver a glare, and Zed uneasily pointed to Roy, rising from his seat. “He read me the riot act about letting anyone off the bus before he said it’s okay.”
“C’mon Roy,” Pete teased as Roy headed for the rear door. “What could go wrong with a bunch of secluded cabins in the woods?”
“The setting of half the horror movies ever made?” Steve threw a balled-up chip bag at him. “Dude, shut up.”
Roy got off the bus, and a minute later, signaled to Zed that he could open the front door. “Sorry,” Zed muttered.
DJ gave him a curt nod and exited the bus. He walked down a DOT-mowed slope. Though the bus had no identifying markers, and it was getting dark, it was obviously a tour bus, so he wore his ball cap over his trademark curls. In his old T-shirt and jeans, he would pass for a roadie.
As Roy came to stand at his side, DJ took a moment to control his temper while looking at the trees. Roy gave him the time, the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder. DJ thought of the other night, what they had shared, and the things it had revealed to him about Roy. There was so much more he wanted to learn, but DJ wouldn’t let his desires interfere with this. It was too important.
“You’re paying me directly?” Roy said unexpectedly.
“You think I’d have Moss include my personal protection in band expenses?”
“Since if they lose you, it would severely impact the band, yeah. But it’s your money.” Roy turned to face him. “DJ, it was stupid of him not to include me. Worst case, he did itdeliberately, because he’s fucked up and resents authority. Best case, he was irresponsible and careless.”
“He did think about it. He thought an unplanned stop only known to him would be pretty secure.”
“I don’t assume I know how to play drums because I can pick up sticks and beat on them. How many campground employees have made guesses at who might have reserved it, talked about it with friends or family, posted it on their social media…”
“Roy…” DJ hooked his hands behind his neck and dropped his head back, blowing out a breath. “I know your first job is protecting me, but I need you to figure this out with Tal without tearing him down for it.”
“Coddling him doesn’t help anything.”
“This isn’t that. He has these moments—granted, fewer and fewer—where he’s trying to stay connected to us. He’s fighting the self-destructive parts of himself.”
And losing.Even the way he’d presented the gift was borderline manic, telling DJ he was coasting on the dregs of his latest high. DJ dropped his hands and stared at the wall of trees. “I’d like to acknowledge the effort. Maybe it’ll help him keep it together a few more weeks, until this tour is over and I can get him into rehab.”
He offered Roy a grim half smile. “You know any facilities that’ll take someone brought there against their will?”
“Prison.” Roy obviously wasn’t willing to lighten the mood.
“Roy, he chose a place well away from dealers.” Probably because he’d stocked up at their latest venue.
Roy’s expression said he’d had the same thought. Only a stride between them, but stuff like this created a much bigger distance. DJ longed for the intimacy of the other night. But it was what it was.
“Tell me the truth. Can you cover it?” He was asking as the client. “Keep us all safe?”
A muscle twitched in Roy’s jaw. “Yeah. I can make it work. But it shouldn’t happen again. He needs to understand that, though I’m pretty sure he’s too messed up to get it. You’re naïve if you assume otherwise.”
That anger returned, and this time DJ didn’t dial it back. He was tired of Roy thinking he was an idiot. At least for the wrong reasons.
“You think I don’t know what destruction an addict causes? I was in foster care because my single mom died from an overdose of pills. She gave me a handful in my Spaghetti-Os, thinking I’d be better off coming with her. I nearly died. The docs say it’s why I have the metabolism of a house wren. The two years to keep me on the right side of the ground, and then the decade after that where I had to deal with a grab bag of illnesses caused by a shitty immune system kept me from being adoptable.”
“You didn’t tell Leann that.” The startled look in Roy’s eyes said it wasn’t information he’d had, either. Unsurprising, since “mother deceased from overdose” was the only notation on his paperwork. Marjorie had found out DJ’s rocky health history from a social services worker who took care of him during those first two years. The rest had been lost along the way. Probably in a file fallen to the back of a drawer somewhere.
“Not her business,” DJ said shortly. “Only mine and theirs,” he nodded toward the bus, “because they get what that makes us.”
He reached out to touch Roy’s arm because well, he was a toucher, and he liked touching Roy. “You’re not wrong. But neither am I. Bad luck, loneliness and abandonment. Steve, Pete and I lived in that toilet before we ended up with Marjorie, and she got the shit cleaned off of us. But when the wind turns a certain way, we can still smell it on ourselves. Tal didn’t have that advantage.
